Understanding
by McGonagall's Bola
Summary: Kittens. Hermione/George. "Where was I?" - contribution to Twin Exchange Monthly Challenge. WON!


Author's Note: So, this will be my contribution to **Twin Exchange Monthly Challenge **of May 2012. You could vote for me on their page here between May 20 and June 10, I believe (u/1541584/Twin_Exchange).

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**Kittens. Hermione/George. "Where was I?"**

An air of soberness made the air in The Burrow heavy. The shabby looking building had always had a very homey atmosphere both for the householders and guests, but it wasn't the same. Fred's hand on the old Weasley Clock had now halted on _Lost_ for the last three weeks. No bangs of Apparition or blowups while experimenting for new Weasley's Wizard Wheezes interrupted the quiet anymore. They all missed it, somehow. The usual daily laughter that was there when holidays lasted, had been reduced to a minimum. All of them dealt with it all in their own way both together and alone.

The darkness in The Burrow had not yet lightened, though… which was not so weird since the funeral had been only two weeks prior. It still greatly contrasted with the warming season. The rays of sunshine that beat through the clouds slightly more often lately were never quite as bright as prior to the battle, and at the same time just that bit too bright – too bright for the grieving world that had lost a son, a brother, a pal, a Gryffindor… and so many others. Teddy Lupin would possibly never remember his father or mother, though Harry, his godfather, and Andromeda, his nana, had vowed to tell him about them every day and show him all pictures they had, so that at the very least he would have a vague idea of how they had looked like. Then had come the all too tough realization of how very little pictures there were.

Ginny and Hermione quietly laid the large table for ten, as Fleur and Mrs. Weasley continued to whisk in pots. Harry and Hermione lived in The Burrow for the time being, and Bill and Fleur had temporarily moved in with the Weasleys again until… No one really knew until when, but at least for a little while longer. Ginny and Hermione, who usually laid the table never asked questions when the Weasley matriarch easily Conjured cutlery and the like for ten.

At mealtimes, the seat of course remained unoccupied, but everyone just supposed that it was a unique way of showing her grief for Molly, and so everyone let her, hoping that she would actually benefit from it in the end. Seven children had been raised at that large table, and her dear family was all Molly Weasley née Prewett had… had had - had.

"Boys!" Molly bellowed loud enough to carry upstairs. Her eyes trailed to the window that gave view upon the messy garden. She sighed nearly inaudibly. No one had questioned him when George had exchanged for the garden quite early that morning. He seemed to need the time alone. He was old and wise enough, they said. He had lost a twin brother and dealt with it all differently, they said.

Hermione, catching Molly's worried gaze, laid down the last knife, kindly suggesting, "I'll go get him if you like."

Molly offered her a small smile. "That would be nice," she said.

Hermione nodded, calmly making her way into the garden and slowly walking over to where George stood, seemingly gazing far into the distance with both hands in his pockets, just like he had stood there the last few hours. She wondered if he wasn't beginning to get sore into this same position, but Hermione knew better than to ask him. Calmly laying her hand on his muscular upper arm – supposedly from all the box replacing – because she could reach no higher, she whispered, "Dinner's almost ready, George."

A silence fell between both, until after a little while, George said, "I don't feel like having anything."

Hermione wasn't exactly surprised. Molly had always tried to convince him to eat at the very least something, but it had seldom worked. The slightly younger Gryffindor didn't really know what to say and calmly laid her head upon the taller wizard's shoulder as a gesture of vague comfort. "I find them rather cute," Hermione said, pointing at a still small white and orange kitten sneaking back into the garden, followed by two more: one with slightly longer hair, one with gray patches as well.

"Ron wasn't exactly happy to know Crookshanks got himself a girl and managed to procreate so soon as well."

"Yes, well… He never liked Crookshanks to begin with. I don't believe he really likes cats in all."

"He doesn't," George confirmed. "Fred and I may or may not have had something to do with it." The small smile that had momentarily appeared on his face at the mere mention of his lost brother disappeared again once he realized just what he had said. Hermione gently squeezed his arm. The two of them quietly watched as Daddy Crookshanks himself soon came racing ahead in the garden, moving after his kittens with his bendy legs. Hermione briefly wondered where the mother could be. Then she suggested to her quiet companion, "What about a walk? I'm sure your Mum will leave some of her cooking for us for when we return."

George merely nodded, following her lead as she walked them to the edge of the Weasleys' large garden and further into the field, after having gotten past the rusty barbed wire very carefully. George crawled over it first; holding the wire down with his hand between the pins, waiting until Hermione had passed it as well and then letting go. She smiled at him with her appreciation, sliding her arm in his and continuing to walk with him through the straws of high grass. It hadn't rained in days and the straws were harsh against Hermione's bare legs. She dearly regretted the choice for those shorts now, though she tried not to wince too audibly in order not to disturb the silence between her and George. It wasn't really uncomfortable, and Hermione hoped it wasn't for him, either.

"I miss him," George suddenly spoke after a couple more minutes of walking, each step leading them further away from The Burrow. It felt as if he had been caged by the memories of his brother somehow, a weight lifted from him as he let go for a moment, enough to be able to talk.

Hermione eyed him as they continued walking, tightening her hold on him again to say that she was right there and listening to him. She didn't want to interrupt him, especially now that he finally had begun talking and had said more than two words that were not highly essential, like it had been in the last few weeks. She wasn't sure how much more he would be saying, but she still wanted him to know that she was there for him. She doubted that he would ever tell his mother, father, sister or other brothers – not in those words.

"He was my twin, my nearly literal other half… I love my other brother, and I do love Ginny… sometimes, but it… just… isn't the same. Fred and I – It seems just like I have lost a part of me that I'll never be able to find again. Each time I smile, I feel like I'm betraying him. How could I smile let alone laugh without him?"

Silence continued and once Hermione was assured George wasn't going to say any more, she replied, "I believe you're right there, that you have lost a part of yourself. All of us have lost a part of ourselves in one way or another in this war. I don't believe that he would see it as betraying him, though," Hermione said carefully. "I believe that he would regret never being able to laugh with you again about just as much, but I don't believe he would have seen it as betrayal if you do so without him. I know it must sound cliché, but he would want you to be happy. He wouldn't want you to just stop laughing or being happy. He would want you to keep experimenting on with those Wheezes, keep selling those boxes and ensure the occasional fun at Hogwarts."

By the time Hermione redirected her calm gaze from their feet once more – which by then had come to fall in synchrony – she saw George dab at his eyes with the mouse of his other hand. Casting her gaze ahead, fully aware that most guys didn't like to be looked at when in tears, she said, "Crying's okay, you know. Even after… Grief doesn't have a strict schedule."

Then George stopped and Hermione halted, too. She dared to look at him and saw that a little smile lay on his lips. "You and Ron really are too different."

Hermione laughed. "Oh, I know – we're quite okay without the in-love part really, but we're too different for a relationship to work between the two of us. There's really a lot of stuff you can bear from a non-lover but not from a lover."

"He sees life very black and white," George said. "He doesn't see much farther than his nose is long but lived in the now with only those small possibilities at his feet. He dreams – however, he never tries look for possibilities to achieve them. I wonder what will come from him."

"He'll be fine, in his own little way," Hermione said, quit assured. "You will, too."

George carefully cast his gaze aside, finding chocolate. "You're different," he said. "You see all not how it is alone, but how it could be as well. You see the opportunities to achieve what you're dreaming of, even when farther away. You wait or fight until you reach them if necessary. I would like to believe I used to be like that myself. After all, Weasley's Wizard Wheezes didn't come just from nowhere at all. That joke shop was a long dream of… us." She saw his Adam's apple move as he swallowed hard. Hermione's head jerked to a tree not that far from where the two of them had stopped. George nodded, agreeingly.

As they neared the old piece of nature, Hermione waved her wand and, at once, a large swing suitable for two materialized at one of the lower hanging branches of the old tree. As the two reached it, Hermione roughly took hold of the cord and tugged hard as if wanting to test how sturdy her creation in fact was. She sat down on the swing, waiting until George followed, having let go of his arm by then. Both Gryffindors eyed their own feet for a long moment, until Hermione quietly asked, "What do you dream of, George?" As she looked at him once more, the sun shone right into her eyes, and so she had to squint, in order to merely look at him well.

George's head shook. "No idea," he admitted. "I guess I would like to continue Weasley's Wizard Wheezes. I can't let all our hard work go right to piece, but altogether… I'm afraid that it will never really be the same – without him, I mean. I'm not sure I could really do it."

"I am," Hermione said, her hand moving to carefully cover his and squeeze. He feigned to be trailing the large roots of the tree, which peeked from beneath the grassy field, between the stray flowers. "You could," she said. "You're really such a great guy, George. I bet, once everyone has managed to deal with all this… there'll a great lot of nice women pursuing you. You'll be married, a father… I know that someone who tries understanding you is important – at least: try."

George turned to her with a slight smile, quietly thanking her for listening and for her kind words. He didn't believe them quite yet, though. His eyes connected with chocolate for a moment, followed by him slowly leaning in to kiss her right cheek, wanting her to know he really appreciated her kindness. Whether the mistake was hers or maybe his, he didn't quite know. However, his lips met not her cheek… rather, the softness of her kind lips. For two crucial seconds, neither of them moved, prior to them retracting both and eyeing one another in question. George assumed he carried a look of shock on his face. Hermione seemed… perfectly calm – too perfect, nearly. Still, he said, "I err… I'm sorry."

"I'm not," Hermione said. "I meant that," she stressed.

The first real smile in weeks passed over George's features, even though the smile was a very tight and small one only. "So, you wouldn't mind if I repeated that?"

Hermione's head shook, a slight smile on her lips as well.

"In that case…" George began. "Where was I?"

A laugh bubbled from Hermione's throat, her eyelids already sagging shut as George leaned in once more at their first real kiss. Yes, they understood each other.


End file.
